


Peeping Jim

by RedEris



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Sexual Humor, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/pseuds/RedEris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interrupting Jim delivers a report at just the wrong moment, as usual, and finds himself struggling with a quandary he never expected to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peeping Jim

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my fault. I was egged on.

The door swung open on an empty office, and Jim fought down a surge of disappointment. The chance to see his Commander had given his feet wings all the way from the captain’s office. Well, if his lionheart could be strong when the Inquisitor was gone, so could he. He put the duty roster on the desk in front of the chair and weighted it carefully with the inkwell.

Jim’s hand was on the door again when he heard the first thump from above, followed by a muffled giggle. He froze. Surely…surely not? He could see clear blue sky out the doorway. Another giggle came from above, and his heart jumped into his throat as something moved at the top of the ladder, but it was just a piece of cloth. Oh. No, a shirt sleeve. Oh Maker.

Would…would the door squeak if he left and closed it? It squeaked sometimes. They would be terribly embarrassed if the door squeaked and they knew. But he couldn’t just leave the door open. Anyone might come in. At least the secret was safe with him. If that Ranulf came in and heard, it’d be all around the barracks in an hour. He couldn’t stand the thought. But he couldn’t…he couldn’t stay…

A deep baritone rumble of pleasure filtered down from the loft, and heat surged through Jim’s gut. All the times he’d pictured his Commander, shameful and red-faced in the dark of the barracks, but he couldn’t imagine the sound. Another thump, followed by a high, feminine moan.

“Oh Maker, Cullen, you’re _huge_. Ahh--- _ahhh!_ If you were any bigger, I don’t— _mmmm_.”

Jim wondered distantly if it were possible for so much blood to go to your crotch that you passed out. This was terrible—there was no excuse, none at all, for still being here. But his feet were rooted to the floor. Sounds were cascading down from above now, and he could hear the rhythm of it in her sharp pants, punctuated by quiet, strained groans and the occasional fleshy slap. 

“Harder, Cullen. _Harder_. Fuck me ‘til I can still feel you when I’m greeting simpering nobles for dinner.”

His breathy laugh was electrifying. “Turn over, then, minx, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Oh Holy Andraste and the stake on which she burned, he had to see. It was unforgivable, it was a violation of the first order, and he would never have another chance. He had to.

He put his hand on the ladder and yanked it back half a dozen times before he left it there and pulled up, so slowly, so carefully, expecting a betraying creak at every moment.

Although, honestly, the way she was carrying on, it didn’t seem likely they’d hear.

At the top, he stayed close to the shirtsleeve, in case it would offer a bit of extra cover. He couldn’t help imagining he smelled a whiff of elderflower. At the last moment, he tipped his head sideways, so that only one eye would peek above the floor. One of the scouts had said that leading with the side of your head showed less area. Of course, she might’ve been bullshitting him, but just in case.

He nearly let go and fell when the pair came into view. Well, really mostly the Commander. The Inquisitor was kneeling on the floor bent over the bed, all but her legs hidden by the pale gold perfection of his Commander’s body where he knelt on one knee, the other leg bent up and to the side for leverage.

Muscle. Everywhere, every inch, was glorious flexing, rippling muscle. His calves, his shoulders, his back oh Maker his back. His triceps bunched as he pulled on her hips, driving her back onto him so hard that Jim felt a flicker of fear that the man on patrol would hear the very identifiable rhythmic slaps, not to mention the Inquisitor, through the open door. The Commander shifted to grip the floor with his toes and growled, low and harsh, and the thought—along with every other thought Jim had ever had or possibly would have—fled.

His ass was a work of art, clenching with each thrust to emphasize the glorious divots at the hips. Jim fought down an irrational urge to leap forward and rain kisses on the perfect dimples at the base of his back. Afternoon sun streamed through the roof and limned the golden hairs on the raised thigh.

“Ah! Cullen, _Cullen, there,_ don’t stop oh _fuck_ …” The Inquisitor’s voice rose to a wordless wail. A bead of sweat trailed down the Commander’s spine. Jim licked dry lips with a dry tongue and tried not to blink. The Commander made a sound that went straight to Jim’s groin, halfway between a groan and a roar, and thrust his hips even faster, panting raggedly, until he lost his rhythm and finally stopped, ass clenched to keep him buried in the Inquisitor. After a moment, his muscles went lax and he sagged forward, catching himself on the bed with an outflung arm.

“Maker, woman, the things you do to me.”

The Inquisitor shifted a leg as if to rise, and reality came crashing back down on Jim. Mad with fear, he scrambled back down the ladder, and he was sure they would hear the scuffing of his boot on the bottom rung. He closed the door as carefully as he could—was there a tiny squeak?—and ran, taking the stairs three at a bound, castigating himself as he fled. What madness had possessed him? How could he ever, ever look his beloved Commander in the eye again? He didn’t deserve to. He would ask to be reassigned. He would go to the Hissing Wastes and do penance in the sand.

He did not realize until he was safe in his bunk that when they came down the ladder the duty roster would be sitting neatly on the desk where nothing had been before.


End file.
